


Nosegay

by pok3d3x



Series: Fireside Chats [5]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Caleb has a Keen Mind, F/F, Flower Crowns, Flowers, Fluff, Keen Mind, Language of Flowers, Late Night Conversations, Poetry, Reading, Romantic Fluff, Wingman Caleb Widogast, no editing we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pok3d3x/pseuds/pok3d3x
Summary: Yasha receives a poem from a mysterious sender... Molly enjoys the reading practice... Caleb is at it again trying to be a wingman... and Beau is a lovable disaster. Welcome to Critical Role!*Fun fact, "nosegay" is a synonym for a small bouquet, especially one with fragrant flowers.





	1. Chapter 1

"Oh? What is this?"

Yasha grabbed the letter Molly was holding out for her.

"Dunno," he said with a shrug," But it's got your name on it. Appeared in my bag last night."

Brow creasing with confusion, but she opened it up to see a pressed flower and some words arranged beautifully. The flower was a thin reed with little bulbs of white protruding; heather. "It's a poem," she said with a small amount of amazement. She'd never received a letter before, let alone a poem.

"Oh, is it now? That's exciting."

"Do you want to read it with me?"

"You wouldn't mind?"

"It's my first ever letter. I would love to share this moment with you."

Molly did love firsts. First experiences of any kind were a blessing. He also appreciated the practice reading. 

Fjord, Nott, and himself were probably the only people who hadn't read _Tusk Love_ , and he figured Fjord was just uncomfortable with the protagonist and Nott simply held no interest. His reason was because for as silly as Caleb made Beau look for how long it took her to read, he would look plain incompetent in their eyes when it took him the whole night to stutter through the first five pages. He couldn't handle that embarrassment, so he feigned disinterest.

Only Yasha knew how hard it was for him to read, and she only knew because she was the one who taught him. She had claimed he was a natural at learning to read, which he felt was code for "it's like riding a bicycle, and you must have known how before you lost your memories". In truth, it was easier the more he read. After a solid hour of reading, he could almost go without sounding out the words first. Getting to that point was so frustrating though, he rarely managed. His reading was good enough to order off an menu, so he was satisfied with that.

A poem though, and a letter at that, was enticing, and much more his speed. He could make it through a couple lines, no sweat. And the practice was good for him.

They sat together, leaned up against a tree, and Yasha held the letter open for them to see.

" _Pale heather, bring sweet weather, color of the moon._ " he read aloud haltingly. The rhyming helped him sound a little more confident. " _When I look upon you, I think of her and—_ " 

S and W didn't make sense together in his head right away, and Yasha helped him along as he struggled.

"Sw-, Sw-," she urged gently. "Like switch and swear."

"Ah yes, sw- swoon." Again, the rhyming scheme helped. " _When I look upon you, I think of her and swoon._ " He cleared his throat at the victory of being two thirds of the lines down, and in anticipation as he approached the last line. " _Pale heather, bring us together, bring my warrior home soon._ "

The script had been a little hard to read, homestyle handwriting always seemed harder than formally words, but Molly had gotten through the whole poem pretty well and he'd only faltered once.

"That was really good, Molly," Yasha encouraged.

"Thank you," he said, not shying away from the praise at all. "I had a very talented teacher."

She giggled, a sound reserved only for him, and he smiled warmly. It was lovely weather, he had lovely company, and they read a lovely poem. It was the start of what could only be a lovely day.

"I wonder who left it," he murmured as they pressed together for cuddling rather than reading.

"I don't know who would have if it weren't you, but the writing is too neat to be yours," she joked. Her voice was flat, and many would have taken it offensively, but Molly knew her. Sometimes she had a problem with tone because common didn't have explicit rules for how inflection should be pressed into the words.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I meant awful teacher. Couldn't even teach me to dot my I's," he said with a shit eating grin.

She giggled again.

"The paper is rather fine quality," he noted as he rubbed a corner of the note between his finger and thumb.

"And whoever left it knew I like flowers," she added. "I'm sure Nott could have gotten a piece of parchment from Caleb."

"To be honest, love, your appreciation of flowers isn't much of a secret at this point. I would bet my last coin that Caleb wrote it though. Take a look, every single T is crossed at the same exact slope. Which meticulous wizard do we know that would have the dedication and practice to perfect their handwriting to that degree?"

Yasha hummed in agreement. "Jester may have had the training to have such consistent handwriting with her mother's profession aligning with the arts, but I would expect more colors if she wrote it."

"Beau did say she used to run ledgers," Molly proposed," but I doubt she would give a rat's ass if the letters were sized equally."

Molly grinned as his speculation that Beau wrote it brought a hint of red to Yasha's face. "I'm betting it was Caleb's writing, but he and Beau did share a shift last night…"

"Merely a coincidence, I'm sure. Whoever left it didn't sign it, so they must not want to be recognized. I will just keep the flower and let it be."

"Well, thank you for letting me read it with you," Molly said," And I hope your crush comes forth soon."

~~  
~~

Beau was passing time by taking a stick to the dirt in front of her and etching designs. Horizontal furrows, then concentric circles, alternating rows of chevrons… She would draw something then go over it again. Anything to pass the couple hours she had of watch, since Caleb didn't seem to be much for talking tonight, and it seemed everything was quiet for once.

Reaching a good pausing point in his book, Caleb folded it shut and set his book on his lap. "Bored are we, Beauregard?" He watched her struggle with the stick to try and achieve a passable zigzag, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Fuck off."

"That would be rather irresponsible, seeing as I'm on watch with you."

She smirked and pushed his shoulder gently. "Yeah, watching super hard too. Both eyes peeled—for your novel."

"It is a quiet night," he said dismissively," And I am ready should that stop being the case." He revealed that his diamond was close at hand.

"Yeah, that's fair. Whatcha' reading?" He had a new book she didn't recognize. She guessed novel, and he hadn't corrected her, since it didn't have the air of the arcane.

"Just some light reading. Ah, I believe you called it smut? I picked it up for Jester in the last town, but I thought I'd give it a quick read first." The word wasn't one he'd formally learned in common, but the meaning was certainly easy to parse in context.

She didn't bother hiding her interest, and a lewd smile game to her lips as she shrugged. "Well, if it's going to be a used book by the time it gets to her anyways…"

" _Ja_ , you can read it after me," he said, with a roll of his eyes, his smile still holding. It felt so natural and so very, very wrong to smile so easily. It felt like this moment could be snatched at any moment; it felt like is _should_ be snatched because he didn't deserve this happiness, to have friends.

As he looked over her way, almost about to admit the conflicting thoughts he was having, he noticed heather was growing just behind her and idly commented," Heather, the flower of protection."

Squinting her eyes and looking at Caleb like he had a screw loose for the non-sequitur statement, she asked," What?" 

"Oh, um, heather. It is a flower used in wreaths and things to mean protection. The, uh, white heather is said to be a symbol of protection; and purple, admiration and beauty," he expounded, growing a little red in the face. Beau would probably tease him for knowing so much about such an obscure and silly topic, but he couldn't stop himself as he continued," White heather is also a flower of hope. Ah, wishing. Fulfilling a dream. I read a poem about it."

She looked from his flushed face, to the heather growing behind her, and cocked her head. "How's it go?"

"I mean, it was over a decade ago I read it," he said like he wouldn't orate the poem tonight. Caleb didn't like performing, and poetry wasn't his speciality. When he saw a slight disappointed slant come to her shoulders, he quickly blurted," _Pale heather, bring sweet weather, color of the moon. When I look upon you, I think of her and swoon. Pale heather, bring us together, bring my warrior home soon._ "

Beau's eyes swept back to Caleb, and she found she didn't quite know what to say. There was a visible tremble to his form, but he looked relieved, his eyes bright and hopeful. He was waiting. "That, uh, was pretty," she offered, and she felt Fjord would have clapped her on the back and told her she sounded mighty ingenuine had he been awake. "Thanks." She grimaced at how harsh that came off.

He fidgeted with the book in his lap as he looked down. "It was written by a man whose wife went to war to protect their homeland. He supposedly put out a wreath of white heather on his door every week to protect his home and children, and to wish to his god for his wife's safe return."

"That's actually pretty sweet. Did she come back?"

"I don't remember," Caleb mumbled.

"Aww, she died?"

"Gave her life to protect another."

"Still a good poem, and I guess she protected another… which like, the flower means that, right?"

He nodded and shrugged. It was said to bring protection, not sacrifice your life to protect another, but flower meanings were interpretive.

Beau regarded the flowers once more and thought quietly for a moment. "Hey, could you write that poem down for me? Make it look pretty?"

"Um, sure. May I ask why?"

Beau blushed, and frowned like she wouldn't answer. He nodded skittishly, wearing the face of someone who was beating themself up mentally over what they asked. "No—shit, I mean—yeah, I'll tell you. Don't close up like that. You didn't say anything wrong, I'm just an asshole."

He didn't look sold, and set to getting out a piece of paper to do as she'd asked.

"It's just, Yasha… She's gone again, on whatever it is she does… And she likes flowers and shit, you know? I thought I could leave her one and that poem."

"That's very considerate," Caleb said with a little surprise.

"I'm not good at it, feelings and shit, but I'm trying," she said, holding a hand on the back of her neck sheepishly. "You know that, right? I'm not trying to, like, shut you down? I… like when you ask me questions? I'm just not really used to people caring? Gods, that sounds really bad, doesn't it?"

Caleb held his tongue for a moment, finishing grabbing his supplies out and thinking over what she said. "It probably does," he conceded," but I can relate. It is overwhelming at times, but I appreciate when you look in… to my wellbeing and what I'm thinking. I just… spent so long not expressing to _anyone_ what I was thinking."

He quickly penned the poem, then folded the paper and wrote Yasha's name with a bit of a flourish.

Beau accepted the card and clapped Caleb on the back, wincing a little at how he startled. "Thank you, man. The poem, uh, sharing it and writing it. Just… mentioning the flower at all. I know I sound pretty insincere most of the time, but like, that was pretty cool."

Beau was pretty sure this was the first time she saw Caleb smile big enough to show teeth, and she couldn't help but smile back.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Caleb, what's this flower mean?"

Caleb sighed at Beau's question, having answered for five other flowers over the course of two days. He looked over at what she held out to him. "Oh, that is a daffodil. Widely regarded for joyfulness and good fortune. A sign of new beginnings because it heralds spring."

"You just know all this shit like that—" She snapped her fingers near her head. "—Don't you?" She shook her head with a wistful sigh. "How do you do that, man?"

Caleb shrugged. "I read a book about flower arranging once. I just… remember what I've read."

"You got a poem about daffodils?"

Caleb wracked his brain, but shook his head no. "I don't read much poetry, and especially not in common," he excused himself.

"Okay, but you're like, really smart, right? Can you make a poem?"

"Um…" Caleb was not confident in his creative abilities.

"Please?"

Caleb was surprised by her very real plea, and he nodded. "Um, okay. A moment…"

He was rewarded to her grateful smile, which looked exactly like her snarky smile aside from the crinkle at the edges of her eyes. "Daffodils… bring joy, and while… my smile… is coy…? I hope… we can en…joy… this coming year together…"

"Holy fuck, that's bad," Beau laughed.

Caleb grumbled, and Beau held her hands up defensively. "Sorry, sorry. You said you weren't good at poetry, and you were right." He bristled less after her apology.

"I can remember poems very well, but I never dabbled in writing any. Maybe we can build one like the heather poem?"

"You mean, like take their words and fit in our own using their style?"

Caleb frowned and said," Perhaps we could phrase it less like plagiarism, and more like guided learning?"

"I'm fine with plagiarism," Beaus said with a laissez-faire shrug.

Caleb sighed, but nodded. "So the heather poem breaks each phrase into three pieces, the first and second piece loosely rhyming in part one and two, and the third pieces rhyming with each other in every part."

"Right," Beau said with a bored nod.

"Okay… ' _Yellow daffodil, beauty still, beauty ever sing. By your appearance, you herald spring. Yellow daffodil, lend your thrill, I hope love you bring._ ' How's that?"

"L-love," Beau scoffed. "Who said anything about love?" She tried to play it cool by buffing her nails, but the bright red hue of her cheeks probably killed her display.

"Please, Beauregard. Your second flower and poem in two days? Pardon, she'd read it in the morning, two poems in three days. Clearly not love after all, my bad."

She glared at him open mouthed, wordless. His snarky demeanor was so playful, she almost thought he was possessed. A begrudging smile smothered her attempt at a frown and she granted," Okay, I have feelings for her. I think the poem is coming on a little strong though." 

Caleb puzzled over this critique and tried," _I hope affection you bring._ "

"I can do affection," Beau said with a serious nod, like prepping herself for battle.

He chuckled as he grabbed out a piece of parchment and wrote down the agreed upon poem. He scrawled Yasha's name after the simple letter fold, and held out the poem to Beau.

She took it after a moment of apprehension, then bit her lip. "Thank you, Caleb." Her words were the most sincere he'd ever heard her.

"You… you don't think this is…"

"Daffodils can represent unrequited love, or an invitation of unknown mutual feelings."

"But…"

"I think there is a very good chance she may return your _affectionate_ feelings," Caleb jibed with extra emphasis on the less serious word choice.

"Okay, okay… I…" She looked to Caleb for help as her words failed her.

"Falling in love is good, embrace it. Go for it," he encouraged, trying to clap her on the back like she had him before. It connected awkwardly; he wasn't used to physical affection as much as he yearned for it. "S-sorry.." He withdrew his hand at the awkward attempt, embarrassed for even trying.

"N-no. You just have to go in with a little more conviction," she encouraged, clapping his back easily, naturally.

They both ended with a hand on each other's shoulder, and he squeezed her shoulder to inspire confidence. "When I was your age—" and that statement felt _so_ wrong, because just five years ago, he felt her age, but he soldiered on. "—I found love, and it wasn't until one of us actually made proclamations that we realized the mutual feelings. We could have that many more months together had we acted on those feelings… Almost a year more… And I sincerely regret not acting sooner."

Beau's throat was thick as she swallowed. "I'm not ready to put my name on it."

Caleb huffed a small laugh, letting his hand fall so he may wring his hands nervously as continued talking about his past and the meager advice he could offer from it. "And that is fine. It comes with time. My first… I sang. I, um, I sang a popular ballad from my hometown—our shared hometown—and it took weeks of practicing until I thought I could get through the first verse without losing my lunch from nervousness."

Beau held silent until she was sure he was done sharing, then sighed. "I didn't know you could sing," she managed to joke, her voice weak.

"I can't," he said with a light laugh.

She echoed the laugh, and took a steadying breath. "If she likes this one, I'll put my name on the next."

Caleb smiled warmly. "I asked Nott to watch. She kept the first poem and flower in her journal."

Beau's heart fluttered, and she quickly beat down the feeling before reflecting on Caleb's words. "You think…?"

"She appreciated the gesture at the absolute least," Caleb said, knowing sometimes it took risk assessment to calm oneself and be assured one's presence wasn't a burden.

Beau nervously allowed herself a hopeful smile. "Okay, cool. Could you have Nott leave this one like the first?"

Caleb took back the letter that Beau had hand pressed the flower into. "Of course."

~~  
~~

Nott shrieked as a strong hand grabbed her wrist. She cowed under the looming form of Yasha, and panickedly excused," I'm not taking nothing! Not I'm Nott, comma, taking. I, ah, um, I am not taking anything. I'm leaving a note is all!"

Yahsa relinquished the hand once she was fully awake, recognizing it as friend, not foe. "Sorry, you just woke me up, and I wake… ready."

Nott didn't ask ready for what.

"Is this another poem?" Yahsa asked as she recognized the penmanship her name was written in.

"No! Yes! Um—" Nott took a step back, and looked for exits. She had walked up to Yasha, who was sleeping against a tree in the middle of a field, so literally everywhere but Yasha directly in front of her was an exit. She was ready to bolt until Yasha held a hand up gently.

"Wait, I just want to ask about the sender."

"I don't know much," Nott admitted. "This is Caleb's writing, but he's writing for someone else. He just asked me to stealth this into your bag."

"If I wrote a quick message back, would you return it to Caleb, and ask him to give it to whoever is thinking to write these?" She didn't want to make any assumptions. She wanted to get to the truth of who was leaving these poems, because if the second one was as lovely as the first, she certainly had a debt to repay.

Nott hummed uncertainly, because returning a message meant conceding she was caught delivering the first. "Okay," she gave in. Yasha was so much bigger than her.

"Thank you. I will be just a minute."

The paper Yasha had on hand was a lot less fine, just the flyer for joining the guard in Zadesh. She wrote quickly on the back in her rough handwriting. Folding it up, she gave it to Nott.

"Thank you," she repeated. Yasha wanted Nott to know she appreciated this.

"I just happened to find this note, and thought it in the best interest of the poet to take it. We never talked at all—bye."

Nott went running back to main camp, and Yasha smiled. She'd read it with Molly in the morning, but her curiousness wouldn't let her sleep until she sneaked a quick peek.

It was similar to the first poem, and she would definitely be adding that daffodil to her journal the page after the heather. She held the note to her chest and let herself breathe in excitedly before placing the note on her satchel for her 'discovery' in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean I have a note back?" Beau's voice had an edge at the implication that Yasha knew who sent the letter and wrote a reply.

"Nott said while she was leaving the second letter, she found this addressed to 'flower giver' and assumed it should be sent to whoever gave the poem, and gave it to me to give to whoever the poet might be."

Beau narrowed her eyes and asked," Did you read it?"

"No," Caleb lied.

"Fuck you," she growled, hearing the real answer and snatching the letter out of his hands with a bit of pique.

"It's sweet," Caleb said, admitting he'd read it as accused. "And doesn't claim to know the sender."

Beau cleared her throat and began to read aloud," _Thank you for your poem and flower. I have kept them close and_ —" She looked up excitedly then resumed reading. "— _and await your next letter. I wish to know who you are. Under the next full moon, the color of the heather you left, please meet me so I may thank you._ "

Beau held the note, her mouth having fallen open. With distant eyes she looked to Caleb for guidance. He merely pointed skyward, so she looked and saw that the moon was a sliver from full.

"B-but… I—"

Caleb smiled and said," This is a wonderful reply. The full moon is only three days away."

Beau made another distressed attempt at speaking.

"Clover grows near the river. The white flowers mean 'think of me' or 'be mine'," Caleb suggested, none too subtle.

"Right, I can use that. Um…" Beau tapped her head twice as if that could spur it to function better. "Can I write this one?"

"Of course," Caleb answered, grabbing out a piece of parchment and handing it over with his pen and ink.

Beau began writing quickly, then looked consigned to her fate as she handed back the sheet of paper. "If you could sign her name all pretty like you do, and uh, pick the prettiest flower you can find… I think I'm going to vomit."

~~  
~~

Molly was braiding Yasha's hair how she had taught him what felt so long ago from his short-lived experience. 

"I got another letter last night," she said softly. Her head was leaned back, eyes closed against the morning light. 

Molly was sitting on his feet so he could reach the front of her scalp for his careful braiding. He grinned and asked," Oh? And what was their reply?" Of course he'd been told of her reply. 

"They said—well, um… Why don't you read it?" 

"After this braid, love. I am not dropping my progress until it's tied off."

Once he had secured the braid, he pulled away so he may sit next to Beau and except the letter. Her name was scrawled just as beautifully, but the inside contained hasty script that lacked the scrawling, but precise, script the poems had. The letters were formed in tight, solid letters that took up less space and could be read easily, even if written small. He'd guess practice writing in margins and taking care of ledgers where entries could not afford to be messed up… and sure enough from the composition, he was sure it was Beau whom had written it.

" _I was told this flower means 'be mine', and the full moon is like 3 days away. So… why wait? Take first watch with Caleb tonight, if you want I guess, and meet me just outside of camp. Follow the trail of clover._ "

The clear handwriting made the bare words stand out that much more starkly, but Molly knew Yasha. She would appreciate letters written with awkward frankness to outsourced poetry. Molly struggled through most of the letter, missing the poetry's helpful rhymes, but the simple choice of words helped. He always felt betrayed by words like conscientious and manuever, that were so fun to use in speech, but felt deceptive in their spelling.

"Your admirer is so bold," he said teasingly, instantly gratified by a heavy blush flushing Yasha's face. He wondered if she had come to the same conclusion as she had as to who left the letter.

Yasha shook her head and pointed out," Not bold enough to leave name."

"I mean, this approach is a lot safer," Molly said with a shrug. "Best case scenario, you go and confess mutual feelings. Worst case, they sit there for a few hours don't have to be embarrassed at you knowingly turning an unknown party down. Next to no risk."

"I could sneak up on them and see who it was before making my choice to reveal myself," Yasha said.

Molly considered this, and then shrugged and said," I suppose so, but that would really be just a dick thing to do."

"I don't want to," Yasha said with a small nod. "I'm just pointing out that I could. I'm actually very excited to thank them for the flowers."

She was so genuine, Molly couldn't help but laugh. She looked to him with a bit of a pout and she held up his hands defensively. "Sorry, sorry. We're just back to them being bold. They invited you knowing full well you could sneak up on them return the favor of being crushed on."

She folded her arms as her eyes became stern. She couldn't keep expression dour, however, and a smile quickly escaped. 

"Now, I say this calls for me to pull out all the stops. We're redoing these braids just as soon as I find some flowers."

They idly collected flowers all day as they traveled, Molly opting to take a horse and scout ahead so he find the very prettiest flowers and Yasha more subtly taking up the rear and drifting west towards the river they'd been following.

Molly had never been one for subtlety, and while he had never tried his hand at flower arranging, it was no surprise he would pass up simple elegance to lustrous beauty. Yasha laid out her meager finds, few flowers that she had selected very thoughtfully, and Molly revealed the array he'd picked, proclaiming," Whatever you pass up, l'm making a crown for myself with."

That seemed only fair for how much effort he was putting in.

He proudly began holding up flowers and introducing what he found. "So, this one, is Gardenia, and this one a Chrysanthemum—I think… I was told not to use the yellow ones. They mean slighted love."

"I did not know you knew about flowers' meanings."

"I don't, but Caleb messaged me and asked what I was doing, so I told him." At her aghast expression, Molly softly defended," They asked you to take a watch with him, so he's clearly in on it."

Yasha couldn't dispute this conclusion, seeing as Nott had been helping Caleb deliver the poems and they'd been in his handwriting. "What does the Gardenia mean, then?"

"Secret love—fitting isn't it?" He was so excited by his findings and the task ahead of him to arrange a meaningful mess of braids filled to the brim with Caleb's encyclopedic memory of flower meanings.

"And peonies. I think the light pink ones would be best. They'll match your blush and mean 'bashful'."

If looks could kill, Molly might be unconscious right now. He was lucky that Celestial couldn't inflict the same harm Infernal could.

It took a fair amount of time for him to brush out the dirt and dust of travel, and his braiding that had gotten pretty fast over the months of practice took longer than usual as he threaded in flowers. By the time he was done, Yasha was wreathed in flowers, and holding a simple crown of pale lilacs twined with white peonies and a smattering of pink freesias.

"I can't do this," Yasha whispered, holding the flower crown too tightly and chancing tearing the delicate knots.

"There, there," Molly eased, placing his hands on hers. "You got this."

~~  
~~

Yasha volunteered for first watch that night, as did Fjord and Caleb. She momentarily feared the plan would fall through, but she also used it as a way of marking off another suspect. Fjord wasn't the admirer. 

That only left Beau and Jester. Yasha found she wasn't brave enough to see if one was crestfallen at the current conversational development; she suddenly found the mud caked under her fingernails very concerning and deserving of her utmost attention. 

Caleb won with a convincing argument she was too distracted to hear, and so it was she and the wizard were taking watch together. 

She watched him send a message, wire to his mouth and look of concentration set on his face, and leaves began moving like they were being brushed away by an invisible hand. 

"Your admirer is down this trail," Caleb said softly in Celestial. 

He spoke so much more directly in her ancestral language. She smiled nervously as she looked down the path of cover. "What can you tell me about her?" It calmed her nerves a small degree to be able to discuss in the shared language between them.

"So you've begun narrowing down who it could be," he observed. 

"Of course, wouldn't you?" 

"Sure, but I make no assumption others will do as I would. I've been told I behave oddly sometimes."

"Oh, me as all. Maybe only weird people would."

Caleb nodded thoughtfully and said," We don't really have anyone we could ask. Fjord is the most normal among us, and he spits up salt water." He shook his head then and added," But enough stalling. Go after her!"

Yasha froze, her stomach dropping."B-but I would hate to leave you alone on watch…" Her song warbled with trepidation. 

"It is a quiet night, and I have my silver thread strung about. I can always message you should I need aid."

Yasha frowned at how easily good arguments came to him. "Okay," she hummed defeatedly.  
She got to her feet and pulled out the flower crown from her bag. She looked to the flowers that formed a path, her legs feeling like jelly. "Do you think she will like it?" she held her crown in front of Caleb for his inspection.

"She will love it."

"Molly helped me make it, and he said you helped him."

Caleb shrugged. "I am a romantic."

"I'm so nervous," Yasha admitted. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need it," Caleb assured. He smiled and said," But good luck."

~~  
~~

Beau's chest was pounding more than it ever had before a fight. A gentle cough startled her and Beau nearly wiped out with how fast she turned on her heel. "Yasha!"

"You sound surprised to see me," Yasha said a little self-consciously. 

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come," Beau admitted. It seemed too surreal to set a trail of flowers and have her crush come to her, like a fairy tale. 

Yasha cast her gaze down, doing her very best not to cumple the flower crown as she started at her hands." I'm sorry if I kept you waiting. I, ah, didn't want to draw attention."

"N-no, I didn't mean… Things just usually don't turn out good, you know? I didn't think I would actually get to… You look really pretty tonight!" Beau grabbed the flower she'd found earlier that day and pinned to her belt, and held it out with a stiff arm. "I found this flower and thought of you. I don't know what it means, I just thought it was pretty."

Yasha stepped close enough to grab the flower, a violet blue thing with many petals. A section of it was a more saturated pink violet. She blushed as she took the flower and smelled it. "It's lovely, Beau. Thank you. 

"Caleb said it's a chimera 'cause of those pink buds sharing space on the blue flower. I thought it was pretty neat, like your eyes."

"He's been saying a lot," Yasha said with an interested work of her eyebrow. "He taught Mollymauk flower arrangement," she added, holding the crown for Beau to take. 

"For me?" 

Yasha could only nod. 

Beau took the crown and put it atop her head. "How do I look?" 

"Beautiful," Yasha whispered with wonder. The soft lilac and peonies played well with her edges. Her severe haircut and angular gave that had a way of resting in an aggressive pout were framed with gentle colors and little freesias that perfumed the air. 

"Ah, shit, I don't know what to say," Beau said nervously, her eyes caught in Yasha 's. "I must pale in comparison when talking to an actual angel."

A troubled look came to Yasha's brow and she frowned. "Don't say that. I'm no… You're perfect the way you are."

Beau rubbed the back of her neck as she scrunched up her face. "That doesn't sound like me. I'm kind of a disaster, really."

"A storm may be thought a disaster, but it's beautiful as it comes together," Yasha said with a shake of her head. Then her sudden bout of confidence dwindled and her wide shoulders hunched a little. "That must sound weird—"

"No," Beau cut her off. "It doesn't. A storm is beautiful, and strong. Its wind and rain coming together. Throw some lightning in there…"

They both laughed awkwardly, and Beau realized she had been talking with her hands, emulating little bolts of lightning being thrown from the heavens. She sheepishly tucked her hands behind her back.

Yasha stepped closer and placed a hand to Beau's cheek as she whispered," Storms are sudden."

Beau's eyes widened in surprise, a breathless wonder about her as she took in the intimate proximity they shared. After the shock wore off, her giddy expression darkened as she averted her gaze and said equally quietly," But they leave just as suddenly."

Yasha weighed this, a guilty knot tying in her stomach. "They come and go as they are needed."

"But they're beautiful, and I am excited whenever they do come back," Beau said, shrugging her shoulders and looking back to Yasha's intense gaze. She squinted and asked," Does that…? Did my analogy even, like, work?"

Yasha's lips curled in a bemused smile. She adored the confused and a little embarrassed look that crossed Beau's face as she thought over the last bit of dialogue, and she brushed her thumb across Beau's cheek. "I loved your analogy."

Beau had a hard time swallowing as she gazed up into the warm, multicolored eyes of Yahsa. "Really?"

"Yes…" Yahsa broke eye contact for a moment. "And I would love to kiss you tonight."

"Uh—okay!"

Yasha pulled her close, and Beau rose to her tiptoes, placing her thin hands on Yasha's broad shoulders for balance. Their lips met, and Beau swore she might be flying with how light she felt.

This kiss was brief, but Beau pulled away at a loss for breath. Her words were similarly missing. Yasha pressed their foreheads together, and words suddenly sifted into Beau's grasp.

"Can we turn this light shower into a heavy rainstorm? Gods, I'm so bad at—that probably made less sense than—"

Yasha's calloused lips stole the deprecating words away, and turned them into eager sighs.


End file.
